


Small Dramas

by seimaisin



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-05-07
Updated: 2006-05-07
Packaged: 2017-10-14 21:53:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/153837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seimaisin/pseuds/seimaisin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean doesn't always go looking for trouble. Sometimes, trouble finds him, and every occasionally, it's the good kind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Small Dramas

Dean loved dark bars – so easy to slip into the shadows, watch people, get a feel for the rhythm of a place. Rhythms are always important, he knew, the first step in being successful at anything he ever did was to learn how to blend in. Not that he always did it, but someone wise out there once said that a person had to learn the rules before he could properly break them.

This particular bar straddled the line between city and country, the kind of place where small-town wannabe yuppies hung out to make themselves believe the people in the metropolis thirty miles away gave any sort of crap about them. The décor was “pretend grunge” – looked dirty from the door, but when you actually got close to the bar, you realized that an obsessive-compulsive could eat a meal off the surface, because none of these people would touch the place with a ten foot pole if anyone had ever pissed in the corner. Sam would be surprised to find Dean here, but truth was, it relaxed him. Tonight wasn’t work – no pool table, no poker game, no drunk contacts to badger for information on some local haunting or another. He didn’t have to be Dean Winchester tonight. He could just … be.

He leaned on the bar, beer in hand, and grinned at the girl walking past. She tried to hide her glance, but yep, she checked him out, looking up and down as she pushed past the crowd at the edge of the dance floor. Tall, brunette, great hips, with an acre of skin bare from the bottom of her tiny top to the top of her low-rise jeans. Dean allowed himself a short fantasy in which he licked her slightly bronzed skin from the button on her jeans to placed further north. She pretended to ignore him. He was far from subtle as he watched her walk away, to a large group of people at the other end of the bar. A man put an arm around her shoulders – skinny guy, button-down shirt and floppy hair, kinda reminded Dean of Sam when he was being all college-boy arrogant – and threw Dean a glance. Ah, so he hadn’t gone unnoticed. It was a wonder the dude didn’t whip it out and piss on her leg to more clearly mark his territory.

With a grin, Dean lifted his beer bottle in salute to the guy and turned casually to watch the band playing on stage. Cover band, not too bad – they stuck mostly to 80s rock, which he approved of, since they hadn’t yet played a song by one of those late-80’s poser bullshit bands. Yeah, okay, there had been a Bon Jovi song, but he didn’t have an issue with Bon Jovi as long as he didn’t have to look at them. Besides, he had fond memories of a teenage date at a Bon Jovi concert, when Missy Covington let him get to third base during “I’ll Be There For You.” Totally worth throwing his hard-earned money (hey, man, it had taken ten hours to finish cleaning all of Dad’s guns) at a pussy band.

The dance floor was relatively crowded for a local cover band on a weeknight. Lots of people still dressed in business casual – men in khakis and un-tucked polo shirts, women with blouses unbuttoned just far enough to expose a sliver of bra and cleavage, just at the center of their chests. They danced in that odd white-person way, swaying from side to side and occasionally hopping in time to the beat. For a moment, Dean closed his eyes, letting the bass intro to the next song wash over him. He could still hear the loud rumble of the crowd, a couple of drunken shrieks, but mostly a steady hum just underneath the music. This calmed him. People calmed him. Sam was laid up with a cold, shivering under blankets to the tune of a C.S.I. marathon on cable, and damn, but this was much better than listening to his brother hack and grumble at the lousy legal sense of the characters on the television.

The thing was, in a crowd like this, Dean never felt lonely. Lonely meant that you wanted to be a part of something, and this? A good diversion, but if he ever had to live this life, he’d probably shoot himself. A job that required a suit and tie? A social life that consisted of yelling niceties at people over the sound of a woman singing “Dirty Deeds” too sweetly to ever be taken seriously? A townhouse on the outskirts of a suburb people moved to in order to escape the dirty city, a town that boasted all the modern franchise conveniences that three thousand other cities just like it bragged about, too? No way. If he ever had to settle down – a thought that rarely crossed his mind – it’d either be in a dusty little town in the middle of nowhere, or the inner portions of a city in which he could disappear. Places like this were just too clean, too surface. Nothing underneath.

He could enjoy himself here, though. It was like television, only with the scent of beer, sweat, and someone’s pot over there in the corner. Small dramas ensued all around – the bartender debated Sunday’s football game with the guy sitting next to Dean, while two women paused in front of him as one gathered her courage to go say hi to some guy named Jake. Jake, apparently, broke up with his girlfriend two weeks ago, and the woman in pink – Molly, who probably needed to buy a larger shirt, much as Dean enjoyed the effect on her chest – worried that it was ‘too soon’ to ask him out. The pair moved on, but Dean kept an eye on them, and found himself chuckling as he watched Molly gingerly tap a doughy-looking khaki-clad blond kid on the shoulder. “Atta girl,” he murmured.

Dean felt his shoulder jerk, and looked over to his right to see what had run itself into him. He found himself staring at the tiny gold earring underneath the floppy blond hair of Hot Girl’s boyfriend, who stole a glance at Dean out of the corner of his eye and smirked as he ordered two glasses of ridiculously expensive vodka. Dean drained the rest of his beer and tried not to laugh out loud. In another bar, he might take the implicit invitation to tussle. On another night, he might be looking to blow off steam, pound someone innocent into the ground to rid himself of memories that he hoped the other guy never had to experience. Tonight, though, he just didn’t feel aggressive enough. Besides, hipsters with gold earrings were the kind of people who called the cops when you blackened one of their pretty eyes. The momentary amusement wouldn’t be worth the hassle.

Golden Earring managed to jostle Dean again on his way back to his friends, surprise, surprise. After he was gone, Dean turned back to the bartender and waved his empty bottle. If Sam had been there, he’d owe his baby brother an apology for comparing him to that douchebag. Of course, if Sam had been there, Dean might have started the fight. You know, just to preserve his reputation.

The guy sitting next to Dean – the one who had proclaimed the Denver Broncos the Super Bowl champions three months early – smiled drunkenly at Dean when the latter reached over him to collect his new beer. “You new around here?” he asked.

“Just visiting. Why, do I have a sign?”

“You just look like you’re from somewhere else.” The guy raised his own beer bottle to Dean. “Meeting someone?”

“Nah, just hanging out.”

He inched slightly closer to Dean. “Looking to meet someone?”

Dean raised his eyebrows and stared at the guy for a minute – finally, it sunk in, and he laughed. “Sorry, man.”

Luckily, the guy was drunk enough to laugh with him. “I had to try.” Dean acknowledged his gambit – and the compliment, he guessed – with a shrug. Gay and a football fan. Who would have guessed?

Dean felt another tap on his shoulder – just a tap, not a shove, thank god, because if Golden Earring was back he might get the fight he wanted, because that would have been fucking annoying – but, when he turned, he found himself face to face with Hot Girl, instead. Who was, indeed, hotter than hell from two inches away. Dean leaned back on the bar, because it as either that or kiss the shit out of her, and he really needed to figure out if he’d get his teeth knocked out before he did that. He thought of and discarded several opening lines before finally settling on a simple, “Hey.”

“Hey,” she replied. She stared him dead in the eye, as if measuring something. Dean tried to keep his eyes on hers, he really did, but she was showing an impressive amount of skin above the waist, and her long, straight hair lay over her shoulders, forming twin arrows down towards breasts that were pretty much impossible to ignore. When Dean finally managed to drag his gaze back to her face, her stare had turned … different. Predatory. Dean resisted the urge to shift in his seat, but damn, his jeans suddenly felt very constricting. “You wanna get out of here?” she asked suddenly.

Dean was glad he hadn’t taken a recent drink, because he would have spit it all over her, and wouldn’t that have ruined the mood? “Excuse me?”

“Simple question. You wanna go somewhere?”

Her stare was a challenge. Dean’s gaze flicked over her shoulder, where he could see Golden Earring staring in their direction in disbelief. His shirt was wet. She threw a drink on him? Maybe. Dean felt a slow grin spreading across his face. This was a drama he had no trouble participating in. He looked back at the girl in front of him, who placed a hand high on his thigh to punctuate the invitation. Oh, yeah. He leaned towards the girl, close enough that he could feel her breath on his face. Her bronzed skin – fake tan, but a good one, and he wondered if she tanned everything – glowed in the artificial bar light. “You got someplace in mind, sweetheart?”

“Anywhere. Your place?”

Dean winced. Not his place. Not with sick Sam collecting nasty wads of Kleenex in the next bed. “I’m sure we can be … creative,” he murmured, smoothing a lock of hair off her face. He was rewarded with a small shudder. “Come on, before your boyfriend decides to grow a pair.”

She laughed as she exhaled. “Fat chance. Lead on.”

The exit, of course, was at the back of the building, and the most direct route would take them past Golden Earring. Dean and the girl looked at each other and silently decided to wind their way through the crowd, instead. The band had moved on to more music from the later 80s, and no longer sounded quite so good, so Dean was doubly thankful when they made it into the cooler night air.

The girl immediately turned to Dean. “You have a car, right?”

“Yeah …”

“Good enough.”

Dean thought his grin might split his face in two. “Oh, yeah.”

The Impala impressed her. Dean’s baby impressed a lot of women. The girl trailed her fingers across the hood absently before looking back at Dean. “Front or back?” Dean was suddenly glad he’d decided to park in the dark corner of the parking lot.

“Back.” He opened the door and gallantly held the driver’s side door open for her. Her jeans rode low enough to expose part of her ass as she crawled inside – Dean enjoyed that view, but enjoyed more the fact that she was already pulling her top over her head as he crawled in after her.

Her motivation? Fuck her motivation, Dean knew enough about gift horses and mouths to just shut up and enjoy this. Motivation mattered not a bit when her breasts turned out to be just as tanned as the rest of her, with large pink nipples standing at perfect attention. Her mouth was lush and warm and wet, and her legs wrapped tightly around his waist. The back seat was a little too small to comfortably fit both of them, but Dean was an expert at this by now – he knew exactly how to position her, to make her lay her head on the small ledge next to the passenger side, to make her take off her jeans quickly so that he could spread her legs wide and kneel comfortably between them. She wore no underwear beneath her jeans, which made his life so much happier and easier. He reached into his jeans pocket and tossed his wallet on the floor, grabbing the condom out of the side pocket in a smooth one-handed motion. She smiled widely when she saw what he held, and rubbed her breasts against his chest as she pulled him down into another kiss.

He lost his shirt, somehow, while his mouth was on her breasts and her hands were pulling and pushing. She moaned beautifully, low and insistent, a desperate sort of sound that told Dean that Golden Earring probably didn’t know his dick from a broomstick. He grinned into her cleavage and let his hands wander lower on her body. His fingers found her wet and ready, and he heard an audible “Oh fuck” from low in her throat.

A few moments later – after Dean teased her with his hand long enough to cause her body to buck and give a small preliminary shudder - she struggled to a half-sitting position. Her hands found the button on his jeans, and she pushed the material down his legs hard enough that he winced when his cock bounced free. But, momentary discomfort forgotten, he looked down at the woman underneath him, naked and panting and tugging his hips down towards hers. One of her hands slid around him and fondled him, soft fingers and hot friction causing his knees to nearly buckle. A moment later, warm rubber – apparently, she was no stranger to applying a condom. Good for her.

And then, he was inside her. The motion started smoothly, but quickly escalated to a frenzied bump and grind. Dean could feel the car bouncing underneath them, knew they must be making a nice spectacle for anyone in their corner of the parking lot, but he was beyond caring. A few moments – an hour – hell, he couldn’t tell time any more, not like this, but eventually, she gave a strangled cry and a full body shudder, and Dean could barely wait until she was gasping on the seat below him before losing his own control.

Once their breathing had returned to normal, there were a few moments of awkwardness – disposing of the condom, untangling their bodies, finding a semi-comfortable position for her to put her jeans back on. They didn’t speak. Dean helped her adjust her t-shirt, and once she was fully dressed, she pressed a quick kiss on his lips. “Thanks, baby,” she murmured, before pushing the passenger side of the seat forward and exiting the car.

Dean’s laugh started slow – he was still chuckling to himself after he’d pulled on his shirt and crawled out of the back seat. He scanned the parking lot, and sure enough, there was his girl, walking towards the sidewalk while neatly ignoring a Volvo driving next to her, bearing a red-faced Golden Earring in the driver’s seat. Finally, Golden Earring drove away, and the girl headed down the sidewalk, towards the McDonald’s on the corner. Dean gave a momentary thought to offering her a ride to wherever she was going, but then he realized that he didn’t even know her name, and besides, way too familiar for his tastes. She looked like the kind of girl who could take care of herself.

As he slid into the driver’s seat of the Impala – oh, hell, he probably should get the back seat cleaned before they left tomorrow, otherwise Sam would wrinkle his nose and make disgusted noises at him for hours – Dean saw a couple stagger out of the front door of the bar. Woman with a pink shirt – Molly – and her object of affection, Jake. They looked cozy. Dean grinned. Enough sex to go around for everyone, apparently.

Dean drove off whistling a nameless tune. Sam would whine at him about how bad he felt, but you know, at least one of them would sleep happy tonight. For once, Dean refused to feel guilty that it’d be him. He deserved his own peace, every now and again.


End file.
